


Monster

by shit-escalates (Schm0use)



Series: Assemble [1]
Category: Red Rising Trilogy - Pierce Brown
Genre: Avengers AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schm0use/pseuds/shit-escalates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There comes a time when reserve is lost, and anger takes hold. </p><p>An origin story, if you will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster

It is hard being a genius, and even harder when your intelligence goes unappreciated. Harder still when you are outcast because of it.

Hardest when you are hated for it.

Roque throws himself against the thick glass walls of the testing cell, even while he knows it will do him no good. The glass can easily withstand the force of a violent thermonuclear reaction—what good are the hands of a slender boy who creates poetry with numbers and has never thrown a punch in his life?

Beyond the glass, three of his classmates watch him like observers watch chimps at the zoo. Two of them, Cassandra and Vixus, laugh at his feeble attempts to free himself. The third, Titus, watches with eyes cold and vicious. He is saying something to Roque through the glass, and though he can not hear, Roque sees the words form on his lips.

_How smart are you now?_

Not smart enough. Not smart enough to escape.

Behind him, with a low whirring hum, the gamma radiator begins to spin. Turbines fire, parts spin—the machine towers over him, thrumming, ominous.

The government internship was the greatest thing that has ever happened to him—not because it affirms his brilliance. He already knows he is brilliant.

It is because it’s the first time he’s ever been free to shine. His mentors in the lab don’t look at him with scorn, they look at him with respect—it is a precious thing. So precious that he did not notice the resentment growing amongst several of his peers until it was too late.

They had cornered him in the lab after hours—he always stayed late, loved being around the machines and computers, free to work and learn. But today was different—today there was a purpose to his slow experimentation and late night tinkering.

The gamma radiator was malfunctioning. It was reaching critical burn long before it should be, and he was determined to find out the cause. But his classmates didn’t know that. They didn’t know that when they grabbed him by the arms tossed him into the chamber, sealing the soundproof door, laughing all the way over how scared he was of the “harmless rays”.

And as he pounds against the glass, they still laugh, still unaware that they are about to be murderers.

Behind him, the machine begins to whine—not loud enough to be heard on the outside, but it should not be making that sound, not for the amount of time it’s been running.

“Let me out—please!” He screams. The whine is a low shriek now. He has to pin his hands over his ears. “TITUS!”

Titus stares at him, unfeeling. He motions towards the floor. He wants Roque to beg.

Roque does not notice, but the noise is such now that he finds himself forced to his knees. He is crying out as it bores into his skull, finding all those synapses and neurons that make him so very special, rendering them useless. He sinks to the floor, barely aware of Vixus on the outside now, nudging Titus in the shoulder. Trying to look unafraid, even when it’s clear now that something is very, very wrong.

Titus moves to shut off the machine, but at his touch, it sparks and shocks him. He recoils, then realizes with dawning horror that the control panel has malfunctioned. There is no way to get the door open.

Inside, Roque writhes on the floor—he experiences a feeling indistinguishable between pressure and pain, burning and freezing. He can no longer hear the noise of the machine, his eardrums must have long ago burst. He will never hear again.

The pressure becomes unimaginable, unbearable—the machine is emitting a light so bright he cannot open his eyes for fear of losing them too, burying his face in his arms. The light surges all around him suddenly as the machine reaches fusion, burning over him like a solar flare, and subsides all at once.

Darkness.

Then, a ringing. Low at first, then louder—a high pitched tone that causes him to realize somehow, miraculously, he hasn’t lost his hearing. It is returning to him.

He sits up, dazed, and notices that his entire body is buzzing, veins hot, molecules shivering. It’s not painful. He doesn’t know what it is. Most of his clothes are burned off.

He should be dead, but he is not. How?

People begin to flood the lab, no doubt having seen and heard the commotion. Rescue teams arrive—the door is fused shut and it takes them another forty-five minutes to pry it open. He is swept for radiation and found, to the surprise of all, to be clean. He spends the night in the hospital for monitoring, but shows no adverse effects. He is on the news, though he tries to avoid answering questions as much as possible.

He returns to school and people avoid him as usual, but it feels different. Instead of negligence, he feels… fear. He has come through fire unburned. He is different.

There are three less students among the interns. He does not follow the story, but he catches glimpses and hears snatches of conversation about talk of trials. Juvenile sentences. Jail time for the oldest of the lot—for Titus. The rest of his peers, who once treated him with casual indifference or aloof acknowledgment are kinder. More attentive.

He realizes he is no longer a boy, but an anomaly. Something to study. He is not sure he likes this, but he doesn’t dislike it, either. His life continues on, and to his surprise, it is somewhat more pleasant post being thrown into a nuclear reactor and only losing a bit of shirt.

This all changes the day Titus comes back.

Roque is alone, leaving the government campus late in the evening. His routine has not changed much. His walking path is the same. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake.

But it would not have mattered, because he is different. His life has changed. He has not remained unscathed.

Titus steps out of the shadow of a tall building and Roque doesn’t feel surprised, simply resigned. He doesn’t even stop walking, just continues onward, drudging forward, even while he’s not entirely sure what the outcome will be.

As he approaches he smells the alcohol. Then he sees the baseball bat.

He stops.

“What do you want, Titus?” He asks, and for such a smart boy, he wonders why he asks such stupid questions. He knows what Titus wants.

“You ruined my life.” Titus tells him, voice haggard.

“I didn’t do that.” Roque shakes his head. “You did, the day you nearly killed me. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

“I won’t.” Titus says. “I’ll make sure you don’t live through this.”

Then, two things happen at once. Titus closes the distance between them, bat raised and ready to strike.

And Roque feels, for the first time he can remember, anger flare within him.

 _Pure anger._ White hot. Burning him more than the radiation.

Anger.

Roque isn’t cruel. He isn’t mean. He was never hateful, or condescending, or a bully. He’s just smart. And for that, he was condemned.

He is tired of it.

Titus swings the bat down in a crushing blow, one that would likely have killed Roque outright if he hadn’t thrown up an arm to block it. It will still break the arm.

In theory. His arm, however, does not break. The bat, on the other hand, bends like a heated teaspoon. It does not hurt Roque, and for a moment, he is utterly still, as he comprehends the situation.

Titus hit him.

Titus tried to kill him.

His fury consumes him. It transforms his body and mind from boy to beast.

Titus was large before—much larger than him. He was. Now he is not. Now he is small.

Titus looks scared. He never looked scared, until now. Roque likes it.

Roque roars at him. Not yells.  _Roars_. Mixed in with his rage is something close to exhilaration.  

Titus runs. Roque chases his prey.

Across the campus. Titus runs around statues, around structures, through buildings. Roque runs  _through_  them. Around them, people scatter. Screaming. Terrified. Roque pays them no attention. Titus evades him for now, but not for long.

They come to an open space, a park area. A placid reflection pool the only decoration. Titus can not escape. There is nothing to slow Roque down.

With a lunge, he lands before Titus in the pool, reaching out to sweep up the boy with a single hand. It is easy. Too easy.

Titus tried to kill him. Now he will kill Titus.

He grips the boy’s head in his hand, ready to slam it into the hard concrete under the shallow layer of water.

But he falters. Looking into the pool, he feels confused.

Who he is stares back at him—it is not who he was.

He is a monster.

Tall—impossibly tall. Where once were soft limbs, muscles ripple and bulge. He has torn out of his clothes, the reflection of the pool settling enough to reveal a glorious naked beast, skin impervious to damage, a hard, burnished gold. His eyes are gold too, shining like a lion’s in the night.

He is so large that he can hold Titus in one hand. He barely feels the weight. The boy struggles feebly in his grasp. Fights to get away from this beautiful creature of rage and destruction.

A bright spotlight flares to life near him, then another, and another. For the first time since he felt the anger swell, he takes note of his surroundings. A crowd has formed, held back at a distance by police lines, government security. Helicopters circle above him, news and law enforcement alike. All these people stare at him, aghast. Horrified.

He is a monster.

And he has unfinished business. He looks at the weak form of Titus, this pathetic toy that tried twice to end his life. Twice, he failed. Roque will not fail. The anger overtakes him, and he bears his teeth in a snarling grin.

In one violent movement, he smashes Titus’s head into the pool.

Screams erupt from the crowd—bullets, too, from the guns trained on him. He does not hear or feel these things. He stares into the pool as the water turns red, stares at his grinning reflection until it is obscured by blood.

He is a monster. And he has never felt so strong.

 


End file.
